


Adventures of the Northerners

by JackTheLongsword



Category: Original Work
Genre: Inspired by Game of Thrones, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person Limited, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackTheLongsword/pseuds/JackTheLongsword
Summary: Inspired by George RR Martin, and by Vikings as well as by true events.





	Adventures of the Northerners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young barbarian from the Far-North voyages to the Mid-West with his lord and the band of raiders whom he calls his brothers.

The Western Sea was a far way back on the trail. The sea that lay in south was black as the night itself. The tide was low surprisingly. The men had mad quick work docking the boat far enough inland to escape the morning high tides. The long uneven road, well maintained but narrow, seperating two grandiose fields of sand. The young lad was more of a raider than he was a sailor. Men like him were few as they were far between. His mother had told him that when she was still alive. The War-Band was a brotherhood of fifteen. The real sailors had been left on the shore. The oarsmen as well as the boatmaker lingered behind at camp watching Wingfoot. The longboat was a small thing as far as ships of the Far-North were concerned. As big as the barbarian lord could afford to have built in his name. Jorsten Ivorsson wasn't as impressed by Wingfoot as it's Chieftain. It was sixty feet long made from the soldier oak trees found on the Far-North of Bygfurid. Arvid the Rivereye had been sent out to raid the lands of Mid-West. Jorsten had never been across the Western Sea. On his first voyage Jorsten had been taken to the Sisterfurid of the Eastland.They had spent three days at the foreign castle. A place scarcely resembling the villages or strongholds of the Motherland. Jorsten trusted the other jarlmen, he was the least experianced among them, and Arvid was a great man. He would not lead them astray unless accidentally. Arvid had earned Jorsten's utmost respect early in his childhood. The young lad would follow the raider chieftain into Hell itself. Out in the deserted sandy wasteland of the Mid-West Kingdoms it was hot enough to be as such.

At the helm of the group three twin brothers, Deodahl and Svedol and Byormur, had travelled ahead of the rest. The plan was to send a one-eyed-raven back when the Sun God was down for rest. The signal from the triplets to meet them at the edge of the Dunefield never came. Now with a fellowship of only nine raiders, including Jorsten, the jarls stood at the edge of the Dunefield. A few of them scratching ass or skull but all of them confused. Where had the Triplets gone? Jorsten had earned a spyglass by the price of blood and sweat and iron during the East-Raid of the Summer. His left eye, the one dominant to his aim, peeped at the great kingdom ahead.

The steaming hot orange field of vast flatlands seemed endless. The desert stretching in all directions outward from the kingdom walls.


End file.
